Bear Hunting

by R. W. Clinger

  There’s one element of his relationship with Denver that Minna doesn’t offer. Denver enjoys Toby naked and all of his muscles, hair, masculine grin, and intimate parts. And Denver enjoys being thrown over the bed or sofa, and poked by Toby’s erection. And the nutritionist rather craves Toby’s hairy chest pressed against his rigid back, banging their balls together. Sexual and corrupt actions that Minna Bowers can’t bring to the table, failing to gain Denver’s full attention since she’s just a squeak, and a pain in the ass. This is why Toby sometimes grins at the woman, acting destructive, faking his liking for her, and realizing that Minna is harmless, weak, and not at all in control of his man.

  Chapter 32: Body Parts

  August 15, 20—

  382 Bretton Way

  1:18 P.M.

  Almost every day for the last fourteen days an envelope arrives by DPS for Toby. And in each envelope is a six-by-four color photograph of a man’s body part. Such parts include a pair of red lips, creamy brown eyes, rounded chin, muscular shoulder with just the slightest tan, three fingers with knobby knuckles, an elbow, earlobe, eyelash, creamy brown strands of hair, and a wrist. There are other body part photographs that are somewhat risqué and vulgar, not that Toby minds since they are harmless and just pictures. A hairy navel and chest arrives, two pointed nipples that are perfect-pink, an armpit with thin and twisted strings of hair, a perspiration-covered thigh, a hairless ass, a triangular-shaped patch of pubic hair, hairless swinging balls between thick thighs, and an eight-inch erect penis, which just happens to be cut and displays a mushroom-shaped cap.

  Carey Cunningham shows up at approximately one o’clock in the afternoon and delivers the envelopes to Toby. Carey has worked for DPS for the last fifteen years. Toby, during short conversations with the professional delivery man, learns that Carey was once married to a woman named Jennifer Wane. The short relationship didn’t produce any children. Toby has also learned that Carey is thirty-three years old, stands a little over six feet tall, and looks fresh in his DPS uniform, which consists of tan shorts just above the man’s knobby knees, a brown belt, a brown ball cap with a DPS logo across its front, brown booty socks, and matching work boots, without steel tips.

  Carey’s a nice man, always interested in speaking with Toby. They discuss the weather, the Templeton Trojans, a professional soccer team, horticulture, the economy, and diets. Toby knows that Carey used to work out at King’s Barbells and Boxing, has discussed nutrition with Denver on many occasions, but lately isn’t in the frame of mind to take care of his body like he used to, claiming laziness.

  Today, at approximately 1:18 P.M. Carey delivers another DPS Overnight envelope to Toby. Toby signs for the envelope and tells Carey, “Thanks. I’m a popular blog writer. Fan mail never gets old,” although he knows that the contents of the envelope have nothing at all to do with his bear blogging.

  “The return address is from Oklahoma City. Is that your editor or someone?”

  Toby lies and nods. “I have a few editors.” Truth is he hates editors. Everything about them, and could never see himself working with/or for a certain someone who wanted to manipulate his thoughts and words. Toby despises the thought of being censored in any way.

  “I’m sure you have a lot fans, too.”

  Toby nods again. “People like what I have to say on my blog. Advertisers pay me to keep the blog running. It gets a lot of public response.”

  “I might have to read one or two of your posts,” Carey says. “Something tells me I just may enjoy them.”

  “Maybe you should give one or two a try. They’re geared for the gay bear, which you’re not, since you’re married. A little reach into the queer bear world never hurt anyone.” It was total bullshit, but whatever. Carey was old enough to make his own decisions; some of which were right, and some of which were wrong.

  Carey tips his head, grins his adorable white smile, and says, “You’re right, I’m not a bear, but I want to be. My marriage is dull. I’m going through a crisis, and I want to try something different in my life, which I’ve always been interested in. I’ll read a few of your blogs, which is a very good beginning, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Before Toby realizes it, Carey the DPS driver/delivery man vanishes back to his tan truck, showcasing his tight and bulbous ass in his tight shorts, and causes Toby to feel horny, desiring Denver’s sexual attention, but not really knowing why.

  Chapter 33: King Time

  August 15, 20—

  King’s Barbells and Boxing

  9:18 A.M.

  “What do you do with the weird pics after you get them?” King asks Toby, jogging with Toby inside his gym’s perimeter, making laps. The men are shoulder to shoulder as they exercise. Toby huffs and puffs, proving that he’s a bit out of shape and needs to work out more, caring for his body. King acts like he’s on a comfortable stroll, not even breaking a sweat.

  A few beefheads lift weights in the far left-hand corner. Big guys in bland, white tanks. Bulging and muscular men that probably are on steroids, eat lots of protein, and enjoy the gym and gym buddies more than their boyfriends or girlfriends. Two big-breasted women are on the Olympus treadmills, sweat-covered and panting. Three queens with twink-like bodies are on the rowers, gossiping about their dates, how horny they are, and cock sizes. Most of the well-built athletes wear their headphones or ear buds, listening to their favorite music, news programs, or audio ebooks.

  Toby says, “The pics are in a shoebox. I have the shoebox hidden under the kitchen sink.”

  King quickens his pace, slows down, and picks up his speed again. “Why are you hiding them?”

  “The last thing I want to do is have Denver find them. How am I supposed to tell him that someone’s sending pictures to me of a stranger’s body parts? I’m trying to avoid that situation.”

  “Where are the pics coming from?”

  “Oklahoma City.”

  “Do you think they’re from that cowboy you used to date from Stockton County?”

  Toby shakes his head, inhaling. He recalls dating Ed Houghton from Stockton County; a sexy bad boy rancher who drank too much and had a cock the size of a silo. The relationship was short and swift. It ended after three months because Ed decided to sleep with an eighteen year old rifleman who was still in high school. Toby tells King, “Ed had blond hair and blue eyes. Plus, there was a line-scar under his lower lip and he wasn’t circumcised. Ed doesn’t match any of the pics that have been sent to me.”

  “What’s the sender’s cock look like?”

  Toby says, “It’s pretty nice. Plump with some girth, and sexy as hell. I’d guess it’s almost ten inches long.”

  “Damn. It’s a porn cock then, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever you want to call it, King.”

  “So you would ride it if you could?”

  “I’m involved with the nutritionist, and like him a lot. Whoever is sending me pics will have to stop, because I really have no interest in them. Things are quite serious between Denver and me.”

  “I’d ride a nice looking cock, no matter what fucked up stranger it belonged to,” King jokes, straight and into blonde women. He uses the cotton towel around his neck to wipe away the droplets of sweat on his forehead.

  “I’m not that type of queer and you know it, King. My cock and ass are only for the special, not the needy.”

  King laughs. “Are you calling me a fucking slut?”

  “Not a fucking slut, just a slut, and a straight one at that.”

  King provides another laugh and picks up his pace. “I wear the truth well. Don’t I, asshole?”

  “Sure do,” Toby says, and also picks up speed, keeping his pace with the gym owner, glad to have the man as his best friend.

  Chapter 34: Bear Blog, August 15

  I want all of you readers to tell me who your secret admirers are, if you’ve ever had one, and if you are one. Text me. Email me. Write to me. However you can reach me, I want to know.

  I have this secret admire
r who keeps sending me pics of himself. Not a full body pic. Nor face pics. He sends body parts in his pics. I know the guy is a bear because his solid chest is coated in brown fur. He’s sexy as hell and probably in his twenties. I’m not sure what his height is, but his waist is thin and his thighs are muscular, which tells me that he works out. The pics come from Oklahoma City. Not that the sender is from the Midwest. Each pic arrives in a parcel envelope that is shipped overnight. I haven’t had fingerprints done on the envelopes or its contents, and really don’t want to. But it would be nice to figure out who my secret admirer is, where he’s really from, and what he does for a living.

  Frankly, bears like to play games, don’t they? All of you readers in the blog world know this, and some of you studs even like the games, don’t you? I’m thinking that this brown-haired and shirtless bear with his cut cock enjoys a game or two. He’s discreet, super sexy, and probably gets off by teasing me with his pumped biceps, chin, perfectly coiffed hair, and other visual treats in his arrangement of flattering pics. I don’t believe he’s a professional photographer because some of the pics are blurry, and I certainly haven’t convinced myself that he has below average looks. The bear’s game is civil at the moment, not at all bothersome, and somewhat innocent. But like many of the games that a bear will play, his stalking, watching, prying into my life, or whatever you want to call it, can take a turn for the worst, leaving both of us stung. Not all bears are playful, but most of them are, especially if you dangle some meat in front of them.

  Don’t be afraid to send me a hit.

  Out and bearish.

  —Toby Cartwright

  * * * *

  Toby has a shot of whiskey, does a few revisions on his latest blog, and eventually uploads it to his site. Not five minutes later he receives a call from squeaky Minna, who asks, “Where’s my boyfriend? I’ve been looking for him for the last fifteen minutes.”

  Toby rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and prattles, “Minna, I don’t usually keep a leash on Denver.”

  “He needs to be kept on a leash or he’ll get away from me.”

  “I refuse to do that in our relationship.” Toby sighs, irritated with the woman, and asks, “Did you call King’s? Maybe he’s working.”

  She snips, “Of course I called King’s, but he’s not there.”

  What Toby loathes most about the woman is her impatience. Minna always comes across as a bitch, even in the simplest situations. Never can Toby recall her being calm and patient regarding anything. Minna is obnoxious, a tyrant, and someone who makes Toby’s skin crawl every time she opens her mouth.

  “I can’t help you, Minna,” Toby says.

  “Whatever!” the woman barks in his ear, ends her call, and probably finds someone else to be a bitch to.

  Chapter 25: Breaking Rules

  August 16, 20—

  382 Bretton Way

  1:33 P.M.

  It’s the hottest day of summer—a steeping and humid-clenching afternoon that can easily seer one’s manly flesh—and Toby feels bad for Carey Cunningham, who is dripping wet on the doorstep at 382 Bretton Way. The delivery man’s uniform sticks to every curve and bump on his well-built body. His brown hair is soaked and there are pools of sweat under both arms, forming rings on his tan cotton shirt. He smells like a rugged country boy who has been working in the fields all day, baling hay. It’s a tangy and rich scent that drips with masculinity, and is somewhat of a turn-on for Toby, who believes it to be one hundred and two degrees in the day’s fiery sun.

  “No envelope today?” Toby asks, looking at the small and slim Amazon box in Carey’s right hand.

  “I’m sure it’s a hardback book. I see a ton of these things a day.” Carey passes the package to Toby, who signs for it.

  Toby says, “Would you like a bottle of water?”

  Carey thinks about this offer for a few seconds, has lines of perspiration running down and over his handsome face, and admits, “What I’d like to do is have a quick jump in your pool without my DPS bosses finding out.”

  Toby is not beneath breaking laws, and getting attractive men in trouble while they just happen to be working their daylight shifts in the scorching heat. Without any inhibitions whatsoever, he reaches out for Carey’s right hand with his left one, tugs him into the air conditioned house, kicks the front door closed behind him, and drops the Amazon package on a nearby reading chair. “Follow me, my friend. I think I can help you with this.”

  “Where are you leading me?” Carey asks, cracking his voice, perhaps nervous about the current situation.

  “To the pool. It’s exactly what you asked for, right?”

  “But I’m on the clock. I was just kidding about taking a quick dip to cool off.” Carey’s voice wavers with nervousness, probably not a participant of breaking any kind of rules, particularly those associated with his work of delivering residential packages for fear of being reprimanded or fired.

  “Fuck that,” Toby says, standing in his kitchen area, next to the sliding glass doors. He pushes one plane of door’s glass to the right, then the screen door behind it. He pulls the DPS man on the rear patio that surrounds the in-ground pool and blue-blue water, and tells Carey, “Sometimes you get exactly what you wish for.”

  Carey is speechless while standing in the hot sun, next to the pool. His hands shake and he insists, “I shouldn’t be here. I have a few more stops to make before my break.”

  “Your break is right here and right now,” Toby says, sounding more like Minna than he wants to. “Now, should I remove your uniform for you, which I don’t mind, or do plan to do it by yourself?”

  “What for?”

  “What do you mean what for?” Toby rattles off and points to the pool. “You can take a quick dip. Two minutes. Maybe three. It’s up to you. Strip down to your birthday suit and enjoy the cool water. Now have it, because you’re wasting precious time here.”

  “I could get fired for this, Toby.”

  Toby shakes his head and says, “No one needs to know, and no one will. I have a towel you can dry off with when you get out. Now shut up and get in the water.”

  Carey finds his rebellious side and listens to Toby Cartwright, and begins to strip out his clothes, showing off his gorgeous birthday suit.

  Chapter 36: The Final Piece of the Puzzle

  Toby is always one to ogle men—you can look but you can’t touch, according to Denver—while they undress on a hot summer day at the beach, or next to the in-ground pool. He becomes awestruck, aroused, and intoxicated by the DPS’s good looks, particular the shape of his muscular chest and the man’s creamy tangles of brown hair that line his navel, abs, and pecs. Frankly, Carey the bear resembles a God on the patio, dropping his mandatory delivery hat, tan shirt, brown belt, shoes, and socks to the patio’s bricks. He licks his lips, hungry for the man, and says, “You’re almost there. Take the shorts and underwear off, if you’re wearing any.”

  Carey is wearing underwear: sky blue briefs that cup his plump private parts with some exact definition. Tight fabric that outlines his dick and balls; a cotton-lycra blend designed by an expensive name brand. He pulls one side of the briefs down and now the other side. What lies beneath is a limp cock that Toby believes he’s seen before, and recently. Also, Carey shows off clean-shaven balls, muscular thighs, and—

  The briefs are kicked off, Carey spins around, and the delivery man walks up to the edge of the pool. His ass is bulbous, untanned, and perfectly tight. An ass that Toby believes that he has seen before, but he just can’t seem to place a finger of the time and place such a visual action has occurred in his life.

  The DPS man dives into the pool, arches his back with perfection and skill, keeps his ankles together in a tight action, and points his crescent-shaped arms, hands, and fingers directly at the water’s surface. There is very little splash as the naked man—someone who Toby finds just as attractive as Denver—dives into the pool’s water. And Carey swims underneath the blue, along the pool’s bottom, until he r
eaches the shallow end of the pool, eventually surfacing.

  Perhaps it’s the final piece of Toby’s “picture” puzzle when Carey swims back to the deep end of the pool, climbs out of the warm water, and stands directly in front of him, dripping wet and waiting for a towel, which Toby hasn’t yet retrieved from a chaise for the afternoon swimmer to use. Suddenly, and rather bluntly, Toby is slapped with a reality check—or the tumbling blocks of a metaphorical wall that has been constructed poorly in his mind—and realizes that the dripping wet man who delivers the overnighted DPS envelopes on a daily basis is his secret admirer. It’s Carey who has been taking the photographs of his own body parts (selfies as the world calls them now in social circles) and has been sending the appealing pics to Toby, using a bogus return mailing address and DPS supplies.

  “You’re him,” Toby says, pointing in the direction of Carey’s chest. “You’re the one sending the pics of body parts to me. It’s not someone from Oklahoma City. It’s…you. And you’ve been playing with me almost every day.”

  Carey begins to shake his head and admits, “But I wasn’t playing with you. Rather, I didn’t intend to play with you. I just happened to have an interest in you and knew that it was a way to see you on a daily basis.”

  “You’re married, though.”

  “And some married guys want to play.

  Toby shakes his head. “You’re the last person I thought would send me selfies.” It’s a ridiculous comment, though, because it all makes sense now to Toby. He knows that Carey has the ability to ship things for free and place fake labels on overnight packages. And the body parts, both the ones in the photographs that Carey has sent to Toby, and the naked ones on the patio standing in front of him right now, are identical in every way. Toby believes Carey when he says he wasn’t playing a game, and that Carey likes him. Why else would Carey stray from his norm on this hot, summertime day, and risk his job to take a naked swim in the pool? There is no other explanation, Toby surmises. Not a single one.